Wings
by The Silver Trumpet
Summary: Tess's wings were lost to her. She must learn to accept that home is a feeling; it is not a place. Can Maleficent and Diaval help? OCxOC, Diavicent. T just in case.
1. Chapter 1

Tess watched the huge thorns spring up from the ground, arcing high into the sky. Her flame-colored wings flapped dully behind her. The great, mighty gray thorns showed the doomed that the kingdom of men was sure to endure now that they had incurred the wrath of Maleficent. And on the other side of that barrier—on the receiving end of the moor guardian's fury—was Tess's best friend. A boy by the name of Thomas was on the other side of that thorn barrier, and the young fairy, only twelve years old, was determined to reach him and protect him. She swooped into the tangled mass of thorns with confidence; her wings had never failed her, and she trusted they never would. It seemed for several minutes that she may be able to traverse the impassable thicket, but just as she could catch sight of the open field on the other side, two thorns caught hold of her fiery-feathered wings. She yelped in pain and surprise as they were punctured. When she tried to move them to break them loose, pain shot through her entire back. She dangled there for several long hours before realizing that, if she didn't help herself, no one would help her. She began to cry out for assistance.

Though she called deep into the night, help never arrived. By the following morning, she was nearly too exhausted to cry out any longer. Then the ironsmiths came. They were coming, just about five men, to see if the barrier could be burned away with iron. But Tess, having never been threatened and only knowing kindness, called out to them. After all, no being would ever intentionally harm another being, would they? "Help!" she called weakly. "Help, please! I'm stuck!"

The men approached. The tallest one, clearly the leader, tilted his head with a smirk adorning his features. "Well, lookee what we got here, fellas." He stepped toward her and extended his hand toward her face. The ring on his finger turned a smart orange. He grabbed her face with a cackle, ignoring her shrieks. She thrashed against her wings—once her source of freedom, they now held her hostage before these men. "Bring the chains, men! We'll burn away her bounds!" And with the clink of metal, the iron chains were wrapped about her left wing.

Hot agony, raw and real, burst through her, so that there was nothing for her to do but scream and scream and scream, scream for help and for him to stop until the first wing was severed from her body. Two men tugged it off of the thorn and walked away with it, but she scarcely saw. She didn't differentiate one pain from another as her other wing was torn away and she fell to the ground.

There was no blood. The wounds were instantly cauterized by the intense heat of the iron. All that was left of her wings were two, pathetic, raw, aching, painful, pathetic stumps that quivered with pain.

She cried. She cried and cried while the men pinned her on her back and ripped off her clothes and pressed different tools to her bare skin. She cried while three of them tore off their own clothes and trespassed on her body with theirs. She was numb and she cried, she cried, she cried until one raised a sharp iron stake above her chest. He was preparing to thrust it in. He was preparing to kill her. And all at once, her numbness was gone. Energy in the form of blue fire burst from her, blowing the men a good thirty yards away and alighting most of their possessions. Including their cart. Their cart where her wings had been placed was aflame. She stumbled to her feet, hardly aware of her own nudity. She collapsed close to where they had disposed of her precious wings. The two beings were on fire. Not just the usual, where they looked like flames but were cool to the touch. No, her wings were legitimately burning with the energy she'd released. They were reduced to ashes before her eyes. She blacked out.

When she awoke, a man (a boy? Perhaps, she couldn't be sure) was looming over her. His nimble, pale fingers were unbuttoning his shirt. She shakily lifted her hand. "No…more…" she moaned.

He slid his shirt off and covered her with it. "Hush. I won't hurt you." It came down to her mid-thigh. "Here. Hold on to me. I'm going to help you." He lifted her into his arms. She rested her head against his bare chest and let a low whine. "I'm sorry. I know they hurt you." His rocking gait was uncomfortable to her. Why walk when she could fly? Except that she couldn't fly. "I'm going to take care of you, okay? We'll be back at my home soon."

Once in the light of the cabin, she could clearly see he was no man. He was a boy, perhaps three or four years older than she. He lay her on a soft couch and opened her shirt—his shirt—to apply a cool cream to her burns. "It might sting. I'm sorry." He apologized a lot. He was right; it did sting. But it was nothing compared to the pain she had just undergone. After he treated his wounds to the best of her ability and gave her some water, he began to question her. Not intrusive questions, really, but questions that would need answering if she wished to stay in his home. The first was obvious: "What is your name?"

"Contessa. Tess."

He offered her a small smile. "I'm Gage. I'm sorry about…what they did." There it was; another apology. He shifted and she went rigid at his movement. It did not escape his notice. "I won't hurt you," he assured her. "And you can stay here as long as you need."

She stared at her dirty feed. "Home," she replied hoarsely.

His eyes were also on the ground. "I'm sorry. I can't take you home. The barrier is impassable."

"Home…" she repeated. She collapsed into a bundle of inconsolable tears for everything she had lost and had yet to lose.


	2. Chapter 2

"Diaval. I've been wishing to speak with you for quite a while." Maleficent's silhouette stood out in the moonlight. Her wings had been returned. The crow-man had never in his wildest dreams imagined the magnificence of them

He sat next to her on the tree branch, keeping a careful distance between them. "What is it, mistress?" he questioned, keeping his hands buried in his cloak.

She turned to him with a slight smile. Her eyes were glittering like gemstones with an unidentified emotion. After sixteen years of service, he knew that her emotions were only truly revealed through her eyes; that her face could be stoic while she was enraged, or that she could smile while falling apart inside. But he had never quite seen this emotion before. "That's just it, Diaval. I am no longer in need of your service, and it is wrong of me to keep you chained to me." She flicked her fingers without looking directly at him. "Into a crow." He felt his body melt down to liquid as he shrank to his natural form. "Thank you. You may go."

He didn't fly away. Instead, he flapped his wings until he was just above her and perched on her right horn with a squawk.

She pawed at him. "Silly bird! Go—Go away! You're free!" He dodged her swift hand and landed again on her right knee with another call. She crossed her arms, frustrated. "This should have been all you ever wanted," she muttered, leaning her head against the tree trunk. Her blood red lips lifted into the slightest of smiles as she stroked his ebony feathers and elicited a soft purr. He let his keen, beady eyes fall closed with her touch, but it left quickly. "Silly bird," she repeated. Her eyes were set on the moon, full and bright. Somewhere beneath that same moon was Queen Aurora. And as long as her goddaughter was satisfied, so was she. She didn't wish for her servant to leave. But he had fulfilled his debt; he had saved her life.

He flapped out of her lap and onto her shoulder, cawing softly. He peered at her the way he always did when he had something to say. She stroked his breast feathers. "Into a man," she reluctantly murmured. She had a sense that he was about to make her feel a fool. "Why can't you leave me? Just as you were before we met?"

He was silent. His black eyes were on the ground. "You made me a man. You gave me emotions, feelings. Animals…all animals want are survival. Success at any animal's life is determined by lifespan and number of offspring." He scratched his head. "I…I am no longer an animal, mistress. I have felt. I have become attached to you, and to the queen."

She did not reply for a long time. Finally, she murmured, almost to herself, "It would be cruel for me to leave you a bird, because you are not one." She leaned her head against the trunk of the tree. "Diaval, you are not meant to be my slave."

He frowned. "I have never considered myself your slave. Servant, perhaps. But all you've ever truly been to me was my friend. And animals don't have friends." He pulled his cloak tighter about him. It was a bit chilly. "But, mistress—"

"Do not call me that. I am not your master."

He chewed his lip. "Could I now be something feathered? I am cold."

"Birds travel south for the winter."

"And they mate in the spring. Your point?"

She smiled at him, still just a slight expression. Did she have an expression that was not slight? Diaval couldn't ever recall seeing one. "Into a crow." He took to the air for a moment before landing on her head. It was something he'd never dared to do before; after all, she had always been his mistress. But now? Now he was free to do whatever he liked without risk of serious punishment. "Diaval, what are you…" He began to preen her long, smooth, dark hair with his beak. "I'm going to look like birds' nest." She made no move to shoo him, though. "I thought dogs were supposed to be the most loyal of all creatures." He gently tugged a lock of her hair. She laughed. "That didn't hurt, Diaval." She didn't think he meant for it to.

* * *

Many miles away, just outside the moors, Tess peered out the window. "I still can't believe that it's really gone." She shook her head. "After…_she_…put up the barrier, I would never have thought that it would really…That _she_ would take it down." _She_ had become the implied pronoun for Maleficent when used with exaggeration. Tess, after all, had to blame someone for her missing wings. She could not blame herself, for she was proud. She could not blame the men, for they were dead. So she blamed the one that had erected the thorn barrier and indirectly caused her loss of wings.

Gage slid up behind her. "Are you…going to leave now?" he asked. This was something he had tried and failed to prepare himself for. Over the years, they had become close friends. To him, she was something more. But he knew that she would never love him like that; she would probably never love anyone like that. And could she be blamed? Hardly.

She turned around to face him. "Not tonight. I don't want to venture out in the dark."

"But tomorrow?"

She lowered her eyes. "I need to return home, Gage. I had a family. My friends were few, but my parents…" She shook her head. "I can't make them wait any longer. It'd be cruel. They've probably wasted years worrying about me, searching." She was hugging herself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't just walk out on you when you've been so good to me."

"Tess, don't." He was hurting, and they both knew it. But he wouldn't have her torturing herself over causing him pain. He'd been caused plenty of pain in his life. This was nothing compared to losing his parents to tainted pig meat. "Don't worry yourself over me. I'm fine." _She has never been mine_, he reminded himself. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

She stepped forward and slipped into his arms, letting him pull her close. He buried his face into her ginger curls, inhaling her scent. She always smelled of the forest. It was a scent that had never faded from her, not even after sixteen years' worth of showers and living in a cabin with a wizard. "I love you, Gage. You're my best friend," she murmured into his chest. She remembered, long ago, when she had applied those two words to another individual, and when she had lost her most prized possession trying to ensure his safety. She had not laid eyes on Thomas since she was twelve. He was no longer a part of her life.

_You're more than my friend_, he thought to himself, but did not voice it. "You can always call on me. Always. Do you understand? I'll stay here waiting for you until the end of time." His voice was gruff. He was trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

She pulled back. "It's not goodbye yet," she reminded him. Her eyes were wet, too. He gave a sad smile. "And I'll always come back and visit." She blinked out at the dark night. "But I'll need to get an early start if I'm covering the woodland territory by foot. I should go to sleep."

He nodded. "You're right." And they headed upstairs to their respective bedrooms, but neither could sleep.

_I'm hurting him_, Tess knew. _He's my best friend and I'm killing him_. She began to sniffle. She felt selfish if she left him. But she was miserable here. Not because of Gage, but because this simply was not her homeland. Wings or none, she was a fairy. She belonged out in the moors, where she could roam freely. She needed to be able to throw mud at the trolls and dance with the water pixies. She wrapped her arms about herself, trying to hold herself together, and rolled over onto her belly. Each time her mind slipped to sleep, she jolted awake with a nightmare. Then she was back to the self-punishing thoughts, feeling cruel for abandoning her best friend.

Across the hall, Gage was tossing and turning. He couldn't sleep knowing that in just a few hours, Tess would leave his home, her home, their home. She would walk out those doors never to be seen again. He didn't care how much she promised to visit; he knew that the temptations of the fae world would draw her in. She might not even remember his name after a few years.

He would never forget her. He knew that. She'd arrived just after his parents' deaths. They'd eaten a spoilt sow, and he, being vegetarian, had not suffered the illness. He'd thought that his life was over with theirs. He was scarcely strong enough to pull them into graves and bury them, being only fourteen. And now here he was, a full grown man, about to cry about a friend leaving. She was just a friend, he tried to remind himself. Though he harbored feelings for her that one friend should not feel for another, she was just his friend.

Dawn came upon the two like a quiet dove, quietly flying in the east side of the home and out the west. Tess was eager to leave her bed. Eager to get dressed and shovel breakfast and leave the cabin altogether. Because the quicker she left Gage's presence, the sooner she could stop feeling guilty about hurting him.

He was downstairs already. He was eating toast with blackberry jam, but had prepared scrambled eggs for her. Her eyes softened. She scraped the eggs onto a plate and ate them to the best of her ability, but the guilt was eating her faster than she the eggs. "You need to eat," he told her softly.

"I know," she replied shortly. He drew back. She rose and dumped almost the whole plate down the sink. "I'm going now." She wouldn't look at him. She had packed her meager items into her satchel. It was slung over her right shoulder. "Goodbye." She headed toward the door.

He stood. "Tess, wait."

She halted abruptly but did not turn toward him. "Don't make this any harder than it already is, Gage."

He was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. "Can I come with you?"

She turned to him. "This is your home. I'm going to mine." Tears streaked down her face, but her voice was steady. "I'm sorry I hurt you like this. But I need to go back where I came from."

He took a hesitant step forward. "My home is wherever you are. Let me come with you. I'll try to protect you. And we'll be together if we encounter danger." He paused. "Tess. Please." He opened his arms to her. "Let me come with you."

She closed the space between them quickly. His chest was firm against her cheek, just as it had been the night he'd saved her. "Only if you're sure," she whispered. Relief inundated her heart. This guilt-trip was too much. He would come with her. He would come with her, and then she wouldn't have to hurt him. She could never make herself at home in a human world, even if said human world contained a wizard's magic. His magic was not as powerful nor as pure as that of a fairy, and his essence was completely human.

"I'm sure."

"What if they chase us out? Or try to kill you?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take, Tess." He lay a kiss into her hair, and she pretended not to notice. After a few more moments, she drew back. Though it was selfish, she was fine with his risk. It was his life. She was not selfless like him. She was selfish. And she needed to get back to her home.

"Can we go now?" she asked eagerly.

He smiled. "I've been ready all morning." He slipped his wand into his robes and opened the door. "M'lady."

* * *

**A/N: At this point (I've just begun writing chapter three), Tess's Sue-ism is irreparable. I'm just going to finish this story and move onto the next one, which involves no OCs thank God. I hate reading fanfics with OCs, so I really feel like a hypocrite even publishing this. **

**Anyhow, I hope you all enjoyed. Reviews are appreciated but not necessary! :)**

**Also-Disclaimer: I don't own Maleficent. But I wish I did. **


	3. Chapter 3

When Diaval awoke, he was nestled in the crook of his sleeping mistress's neck, a position that he had rarely before found himself in. He could only recall once before, many years ago, when she had awoken from a terrible nightmare about the evil king. But now he was curled there. The second thing he noticed was the heat radiating from her cheek. She had a fever. He gave a quiet cooing sound, hoping to rouse her without rousing her anger.

"I know, Diaval, that I have fallen ill," she groaned. She curled tighter into herself. "I will be well on the morrow. Go catch yourself some bugs and don't worry yourself for me." He clacked his beak and walked over her body, nearing her face with his keen, beady eyes. "I cannot make you a man today!" She tried to shoo him away. "That would be a waste of magic." With a sigh, she stroked his silken feathers. He purred contentedly. He stayed with her until she slipped into a slumber. Then he headed to the nest of the three pixies. None were home, though he could hear Thistletwit and Flittle bickering over something Knotgrass had said. What he'd come for, though, was a vial with a cork. Finding an empty one, he swiped it and headed down to the creek to cleanse it and fill it with water.

He came to a shallow part and uncorked it with his beak. He let water flow in the crystalline container several times, dumping it each time. He didn't think the pixies would have anything dangerous in their nest, but it was good to be safe. Finally, he let the vial fill to its tip, and, with a carefully placed beak and talons, managed to get the cork back on it. He then grasped it in his feet and took to the air, heading back to her nest. He laid it on her chest and awkwardly landed beside her. She stirred.

"Diaval?" She lifted the crystalline vial to the sunlight to examine it. "You stole this, didn't you?" He nodded. "From the pixies?" He bobbed his head again. She frowned and laid it beside her. "I am not your master, Diaval. It is not your job to provide for me."

He clacked his beak loudly and kicked the vial toward her. He cawed and flapped his wings. "No!" Her voice was hoarse. "This is not your duty! Go! Leave me!"

Angered, he took off from the nest in flight. _Not my duty_, he thought to himself. _Does she ever consider that I do not consider it my duty? That I care for her, not out of requirement, but simply because I care for her well-being? No, of course not! _His mind imitated her tone. _Silly bird!_

Laughter came up from below, shrill and rich. It sounded to his ears like two sets—one male and one female. He circled above a tree for a moment before landing there to spy on the two wingless creatures below. The woman, whose hair was a brilliant mop of ginger curls, was giggling. "And I just couldn't believe it, that a human would be so obtuse—"

"Hey!"

"That was not my implication. But, in all seriousness, what kind of fool wanders into enemy territory like that?"

The man crossed his arms. "I can think of one."

She glared at him and didn't reply. Diaval came down lower. The two seemed close, but did not appear to be siblings; the man was relatively tall and fair, with thick dark hair much like his own, and small, kind eyes. The woman was tiny in all proportions, barely five feet high, with gleaming, vivid emerald eyes. Each of them had a magical essence, but the man's was much weaker than hers.

He sighed. "I jest, Tess. I jest. What kind of tree are we looking for again?"

"A gingko tree," she replied shortly. "I grew up in a gingko tree."

"Don't you know any locals that we could ask?"

"Do you think any locals will believe that I was the long lost Contessa that went missing sixteen years ago? I doubt many of them even remember my name."

At this, Diaval came closer to them. She was born in the moors, but she had left? Been missing? And, most odd, she had no wings. All fae that he knew had wings. The two were an odd pair.

The man reached into his robes and pulled out a stick. It was a little less than a foot long, straight and worn smooth. "I've got something." With a flick of the stick, he murmured, "Point me Tess's childhood home." The end of it glowed and seemed to tug at the man. The crow watched in awe. _He's a wizard_.

The two raced down a path, and when the wizard's wand led them off the path, they raced through tangled roots and vines and ivy tendrils. Diaval was worried that his following them would seem obvious, but the two were oblivious. He stayed low and close by, if only to sate his curiosity. He flew close by them, and when the wand's pull weakened and they slowed, he landed in a nearby tree.

The tree they stood before was definitely a gingko tree, tall and perky and handsome. It was also very abandoned. The nests were old, stale, dusty, ancient in age. The woman brushed a ginger lock behind her ear and walked around the tree. Horror was scrawled across her whole face. "They're gone." Behind the tree was a large stone. _Oleander and Rose. Killed by snake poison. Twelfth year of the war. _Her knees went weak. She collapsed and rested her forehead against the boulder. The ache in her chest burned with fierce grief. Twin tears leaked down her cheeks. Diaval felt a prickle of sympathy; death was never an easy thing to handle. Loss of any sort was never easy to handle.

Gage approached her. "Tess, I'm—"

"Don't you dare apologize."

He held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry!" he cried without realizing it. He reached for her shoulder and pulled her up. "Come. We shouldn't linger."

"Where else should we go?" she challenged. "This was my home." Her eyes were desperate. "I need to stay here. Where else could I go?"

He crossed his arms. "Okay, maybe it's the lack of fairy blood, but there are thousands, maybe millions of trees in this forest. I know you can find one that you like."

"A tree isn't home without a family," she insisted.

He snorted. "I guess I've never had a home, then." He turned around to walk away, frustrated. "You stay in your tree trying to raise the dead. I'll go back to my cabin." Exasperation filled his tone. He'd expected this to be an adventure, an exploration. Not some crap about finding a specific tree in the woods and making it a home. But, unlike his words, he had absolutely no intention of leaving the moors. He would do some exploring, with or without Tess. She needed time to grieve. He needed to fulfill a greater purpose. He walked into the darkness of some trees.

Tess stared after him. She slid up into her tree with some effort; the last time she'd slept in this nest, she'd flown up to it. She lay in the nest and curled into a ball. The smell of her parents was gone. This place was not home. She had no home. Staring after Gage's silhouette, she knew that _he_ was home. He had been her home for sixteen years; not his cabin, or his couch, or his kitchen, but he in himself. And he'd left her.

Diaval left his branch in another tree to come down to greet her. She sniffled at him, peering up from her arms. "Birdie?" she whispered, extending a hand toward him. He backed away. "Pretty bird." She sat up, nearing him. He burst into the air with a caw and flapped away. Only his mistress and the queen were allowed to touch him. He took to a breeze and followed her companion, who seemed angered at the assumption that home could only be achieved with a family. Diaval thought it false. His home was in a tree with his mistress. _Got to stop calling her that_, he reminded himself. A home could be with family. It could also be with friends. Or with solitude. Home was a feeling; it wasn't a place.

The man-Gage-strolled along. His wand was clasped tightly in his hand; he appeared afraid, even if he wanted to explore. Diaval watched him carefully. Whenever the shade grew too dark, he would whisper quiet words, and the end of his wand would light up. Another word would kill the light. Diaval wondered what all a magic stick could do. He hoped to see more. Wizards were basically unheard of in the moors, and certainly in the human kingdom. This man's story was likely as interesting as the wingless fairy's, maybe more so.

With a glance at the sky, he noted that it was almost nightfall. A bit of him worried for the two land-bound creatures, but it was not his place to worry. He needed to return to his mistress—Maleficent—and make sure she was okay. Regardless of whether or not she hated him for taking care of her, the tree was his home, too.

When he landed in the nest, she was gone. The vial and cork were still there, but empty. He clacked his beak in spite of himself. "Don't be so full of yourself, silly bird." There it was. That common insult. He turned to see her resting on a branch several trees over and rose to greet her with an overeager caw. Her illness had apparently faded as quickly as it had come. "Do you have news, Diaval?" Her mighty wings spread and she greeted him mid-air. He squawked at her before landing on her shoulder. His talons dug into her shirt to keep his balance while she landed on their nest. "Into a man." The magic slipped from her fingertips.

He flopped into the nest beside her. He raked his hands through his hair to adjust it before turning to present his news to her. "There are two magical beings in the east end. A man and a woman. The woman spoke of how she lived in the moors before, long ago." He swallowed hard. "But all that's ever lived in the moors are sprites and pixies and fairies, right? This woman was wingless."

"I do not know everything there is to know about the moors, Diaval. I am sure many creatures live here that escape my notice." She paused. She refused to acknowledge the idea of a wingless fairy. "And of the man?"

"A wizard. He bore a wand."

Her eyes flashed. "A human?"

"Well, yes."

"And they were together?"

"They were, until the woman insulted the man. They had a disagreement over a gingko tree, and she told him that a home could only be achieved with a family." He paused. "She found the gravesite of her parents." With another swallow, he continued, "The man was offended and stormed away. I think he was lost, but I don't know if he meant to go back where they came from or not." A long silence ensued. Maleficent could sense he had something more to say, and thus remained quiet for him to say it. "Mistress—Maleficent—was she right? Is family necessary to be at home?"

She didn't look at him. "I do not know what others consider home. These moors are mine. And they will continue to be mine, regardless of what state I am in or they are in, regardless of who lives here or who has left. But I understand that each person perceives home differently. I am sure that your home is very different than mine, even though we live in the same general location."

He nibbled his lip. "My home is in the moors, too. But not the moors specifically. I am wherever you are."

"You are no longer required to stay here."

"I have no wish to leave. You are my closest friend, and I shall continue to serve you until I die. You are my home."

"I was never told that crows have a flare for the dramatic." She smirked at him with mirth. "You are a pretty bird, Diaval. You are also a pretty man." She fondly brushed her hands through his feathery black hair.

A slight blush came over his cheeks. He tugged away from her touch with one eye closed. "Thank you, mistress." She gave him a look. He pulled his eyes away. "Maleficent," he grudgingly corrected himself. With the growing night came night's breeze. He looked to her for a form change.

She extended her fingers to him. "Into a crow." He flew around the nest. Instead of taking his place next to her, though, like he had done the night before, he flew a few branches above, where his own bird's nest had been crafted by Maleficent's magic. His mind was reeling from her comment. He'd never thought himself bashful. But compliments out of his mistress—Maleficent—were few and far between, and they were usually given out of necessity rather than sincerity. But that? That had seemed sincere, honest, and true. No one was there, expecting her to pay him with some kind of meager reward. It was just them. And she'd given it anyway?

It was too much for a crow's mind to consider. He tucked his head under his wing and gave in to sleep.

* * *

"Gage? Gage?" Tess stumbled through the darkness. Her hand was proffered before her, a flame flickering there. "I'm…I'm sorry! Please, come back!" She regretted her words from earlier. She should have known that mentioning his family would anger him. She had known; she'd just spoken anyway. "Gage?" The forest was nearly black at night. The light pixies were nowhere to be found. Tess wondered if there were any light pixies left in the moors at all.

Movement jumped to the right of her. "Gage?" she called. A startled bird burst upward. She tripped over a still body. Holding the flame to his face, she could identify her friend. "Gage! Gagey, get up!" She patted his cheek, which was alabaster white and cool. "Gage!" His breathing was weak, shallow. Her hands slid down him. An arrow protruded from between his ribs. "Gage…" she whispered.

His eyes flicked opened for a moment. His lips parted, but the sound that escaped was not a moan. Instead, it was a whimper of pain. Tess fumbled for his hand and squeezed it. "Gage, can you hear me?" He nodded slightly. "I'm going to try to pull the arrow out of you, okay?" She picked up a stick and pressed it between his teeth. "Bite down." He did so while she pulled the shaft from his flesh. The head was still attached, thank the gods. She tore a strip off of his robe to tie the wound. "Do you have your wand?" she asked hurriedly. As though summoned, the stick spilled from his robe. She grabbed it, waving it around experimentally. She tried to remember one of his healing charms. "Plagam sana," she hissed. Bright sparks shot from the end of the wand. "Damn." It was useless. She didn't have the right kind of magic for the wand to draw from.

She had no choice. She had to call for help. "Help!" she bleated. "Help! My friend, he's hurt!" Her voice came back to her in the still night air. "Help! Someone, please! I don't have healing powers!" She lowered herself next to him on the ground. "Help!" She couldn't leave his side without risking that his attacker would return. She couldn't stay with him without risking that no one would hear her cries and he would die next to her.

"Tess." His voice was sharp and short, but soft. Just a hiss. Just a breath.

"Shush, don't try to talk. Help's going to come. It's coming, I promise."

He squeezed her hand. He was crying the tears that she had never seen before leak from his eyes. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you."

"I know, I know. It's okay."

"I love you." He slipped back into unconsciousness.

"I love you, too." She glanced up at the sky helplessly. "Help us!" she bleated. "Help, please!"

Maleficent was stirred from her doze at the sound of distress. She reached to her shoulder to stroke Diaval, but he was not there. Her keen eyes flicked upward, where the crow was sleeping. _I oughtn't to disturb him_. The cry for help came again. Her eyebrows knitted together; at first she'd assumed the voice had been one of the pixies, but it did not belong to any of the three. She spread her wings and took to the air.

Tess had Gage's wand again and was waving it about carelessly, using all her effort to force her magic through it. The wood groaned in protest, shooting angry red and yellow sparks. "That's right," she mumbled under her breath. "Help!" Green sparks shot out. The magical tool was growing frustrated, and with its anger, she elicited a stronger response with each faulty wave. "Help!"

The forest guardian landed before her. "Drop your weapon," the magnificent fairy snarled. Tess obediently pushed it toward her. Maleficent kicked it out of the way. Tess knew her name. She knew this woman. This was the _she_. This was the reason that she had no wings. She stood before her, strong and proud with the most wickedly impressive pair of wings that had ever adorned the back of a fae creature.

And now she was begging her for assistance. "Please, help him."

Maleficent knelt beside her. "What happened?" She recognized these two as the ones Diaval had described to her earlier. He was right; the girl had magic. But she clearly did not know how to use a wand.

"I—I don't know, he left, and when I found him, he had an arrow in his side." She was on the verge of tears.

"He's a wizard, correct?" The girl nodded. Maleficent placed her hands on his chest, letting her power seep into him. The wound knitted together with ease. Gage relaxed into breath, but it was still shallow. "There is nothing more I can do."

_She couldn't save me. She can't save him either_. Tess bent her head. A thousand angered accusations rushed through her mind, but she hadn't the strength to speak any of them aloud. The great fairy stood and backed away. "If he'll heal, he should be awake by dawn. But I have some questions for you."

Tess raised her head. At least there was a chance for Gage. She lowered her eyes back to her unconscious friend. "Ask away," she mumbled, while thinking to herself how much she hated this fairy, and while wishing she could make herself void of such emotion.

"What kind of creature are you?"

Tess didn't dare look up. "I am a fairy."

Maleficent's jaw tightened. "Impossible. Fairies have wings."

"And men have iron. And children are stupid enough to wander through thorny barriers in an attempt to see their friends." She could no longer restrain the anger—the utter rage—that she felt in her heart. "Children are naïve enough to trust that one that calls herself protector will protect them. They are innocent enough to call for help when they are trapped by the very things that give them their freedom, and stupid enough not to know how painful iron is until it touches them on the most tender parts of their bodies. They—"

Maleficent held up her hand, and Tess's mouth snapped shut. "It is clear you have nothing good to speak of to me. I am sorry that you were played a fool in the games of men. But no apology on my part will restore your wings to you, nor will it give back the years of your life that you spent outside the moors." She paused. "You aren't the only one to have suffered, either."

"Really?" Tess snapped bitterly. "I don't see any other fairies walking around without wings. Do you?" Maleficent stayed silent. "That's what I thought."

The larger fairy crossed her arms. She didn't say another word. She turned and left, the moonlight making her silhouette seem nothing but a dreamy haze.


	4. Chapter 4

Maleficent landed gracefully in her nest, though her heart was aflutter. The girl's accusations had not been misplaced, no matter how much she tried to diffuse their meaning in her chest. Diaval was there waiting; he wanted to know what he missed. He landed on her head and began to work on her hair, every once in a while offering a chirp to prompt her into speaking. "You want me to tell you what happened," she acknowledged softly. His silence was answer enough. "Those two you met. The man and the woman…the man was wounded. I presume by one of the archer pixies who thoughtlessly assumed he was a threat." She stroked his feathers. "I haven't yet decided if you love playing with my hair because you like it, or if you simply enjoy tangling it."

He gently tugged on a strand, prompting her to continue her speech. "The woman—Diaval, you were right about one thing. Only winged creatures live in the moors." She blinked rapidly a few times, but there were no tears like she'd expected. Because, no matter how sad she was, she was almost more angry and insulted than anything. Her crow stopped moving about on her head, listening intently. "She blames me. She claims that I was the protector of the forest, and I failed her." With another pregnant pause filled by the breeze, she asked, "Have I failed at my job, Diaval? Was I so caught up in my own vengeance that I neglected those I swore to protect?" A sharp pain went through her scalp. "Ouch!" He pecked her again. "Ouch! Diaval, stop! Stop!" He left her head and landed on her knee. She reached back to feel her head, almost expecting to feel warm, sticky blood. But she didn't. "Into a man!" she snapped before he could try to attack her again. "What was that for?"

"I wished to speak. The subtler cues were being ignored." He crossed his arms with a deep frown written on his face.

She sighed. "You're right, Diaval. It is no longer my right to keep your speech from you. What do you wish to say?"

"I wished to say that I really do like your hair, and that…" He didn't want what he was about to say to sound harsh, but he knew it was going to. He sucked in a deep breath. "That a fool's errors are not yours to protect or to correct. Looking after every man, woman, and child in the moors is an impossible feat for a woman and her pet bird—"

"You are not my pet!"

He chewed his lip. "She was a fool to care beyond the thorns. Whatever happened, she did not deserve it, but if it was beyond the barrier, she was out of your control. Men have hearts of greed and power. If she left the moors, it was for want of a man. And nature has its own way of punishing idiocy, I think, mistress."

Her eyes glittered. Many of the things he said had her name written on them. "Do you think me a fool, Diaval? Or an idiot?"

He paled exponentially. "No, no, of course not!" And there it was. The fear he held her in. She had no doubt that he respected her, but she had not earned that respect. She'd beaten it into him with fear and intimidation. "Mistress, I was referring to—"

"I know what you were referring to, Diaval!" He stayed silent. He had more to say, but was doing it on account of fear, she knew. "Speak," she whispered. "What is it you wish to say?"

He swallowed hard. "I apologize, mistress."

"That is not my name!"

He shrank back a bit. "Maleficent," he corrected himself.

She drew away from him. "I am sorry I have caused you to fear me."

"I do not fear you." Her eyes flashed in a challenge, but she said nothing, awaiting an explanation. "I fear your power. I fear hurting you. I fear losing you. But my fear is not of you in yourself." His hand reached for hers in an odd way. He brushed the back of her hand with his fingertips. For a moment it appeared that she would pull away, denying him any ability to comfort her. But then she let her hand relax beneath his so that they were not holding hands, but were just relaxing near each other.

Her lips lifted just a bit. "Thank you, Diaval." Her head tilted just a bit more to the left, leaning on his shoulder. His whole body went rigid, eyes going wide as saucers. Maleficent burst out laughing. "You look like you've seen a ghost, you silly bird!"

He sucked in a deep breath. "I think I have." He leaned away from her, eying her a bit suspiciously. "Do you feel alright, mistress?"

"I am fine, Diaval." She retracted her hand. "I am sorry if that frightened you, and don't deny it, because I saw your face." A light laugh came up from her lungs. He smiled and laughed with her, because it truly was funny. "You can blow men away in a storm of fire and smoke, but heaven forbid that I should touch you." There was a light of something else on her face, but Diaval could not identify it. "Is there anything else you wish to say?"

"Nothing, mistress."

She gave a patient sigh, but he did not move to correct himself. "Into a crow." His form melted down, soft and liquid, into his natural form. She lay down in her nest. "I cling to what I said last night, Diaval. You are a pretty man." She stroked his feathers. "Pretty bird," she whispered. He blinked at her with his keen beady eyes and purred in contentment. After she had begun to drift asleep, he slipped closer to her, so the he was pressed against her collarbones, the crook of her chin forming a nest-shape for him.

* * *

The dawn brought a semblance of peace for Tess as Gage opened his eyes and took some water. He remembered nothing about the attack; he claimed one moment he was fine, and the next he was gravely wounded. He brushed his fingers over the large scar that now adorned his chest. "How did you do that?" he whispered.

She bit her lip. He would see right through a lie. "I didn't. _She_ did."

He frowned. "Tess, I'm sorry. That had to be hard for you."

"Stop with the damn apologies! You almost died, dammit! I should be apologizing to you!" She gently pawed through his thick, dark hair. "I was so scared, Gage. I was worried sick about you. I thought for sure you were going to die here, and all because of me." She touched his pale cheeks.

His face gradually slid into a relaxed smile. "I would do so gladly." He touched her hand. "I'm here to be with you. To protect you. And I love you, understand?"

"I know." She lowered her face to his. "I know you love me ways that I cannot love you, and I love you more in that you still love me."

He lifted his index finger to tickle her freckled cheek. "I'm not saying getting in your pants was a priority, but it was an idea for a long time." She giggled. He went silent. "Did you thank her for healing me?"

"Of course not!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why not?" he questioned.

"She's the reason my wings are gone! She was just paying me a debt. She didn't even know you were going to live!"

He pushed himself up off the ground. The pain in his chest was strong, but he ignored it. "C'mon," he grunted.

"You need to stay stationary."

"I need to go thank a fairy for saving my life."

"She did not save your life!"

He whirled on her. "Then who knitted up my busted insides? Who brought my broken ribs back together? Did you do that, Tess? Did you outpour your magic into my body with the hope that my heart would keep beating just a little longer?" Her eyes glowed with hurt. He continued, "I think you would have rather me suffered longer than her heal me, if my wound wasn't mortal. You would have, wouldn't have you?" She didn't respond. "That's answer enough." He kept walking, though the pain in his side was great. "You stay here. You don't need to embarrass yourself anymore. Unless you intend to apologize."

"I told her the truth."

"What truth, Tess? She did not hack off your wings!"

"I thought you were on my side!"

He sighed, slowing his pace. "I do not think you in any way deserved what those bastards did to you. But, that being said, it does not excuse bad behavior toward the forest guardian."

"Bad behavior? Gage, I am not a child!"

"You must have been acting like one!" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did you say to her exactly? What words did you use?"

"I told her that it was her duty to protect me, and she failed. I also pointed out that I had a right to be angry, since I was the only fairy that ended up outside the moor for sixteen years and permanently wingless," she admitted.

He pressed his hand to the side of his ribs. "You can stay here, since you're going to act like a child." He pushed her down into a seated position on the ground. She was pouting. He didn't care.

After wandering several hundred yards into the forest, he called out, "Maleficent! Maleficent!" He paused. "Maleficent! I have an apology to make!"

"I am up here, wizard." He tilted his head back to see the most perfect being ever formed, well-sculpted and perfect. "You do not have to apologize on account of your friend. She does not know my story, nor does she care to. Let her go on believing she was the only one hurt through this. I did it for a very long time."

"Tess is quick to judge and quick to blame. She needs a scapegoat, even all these years later. I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "And thank you. For saving my life. That's another thing that Tess could not have done."

The large fairy floated down beside him. "You speak ill of her, but you are fond of her and stay near her."

"She's my best friend. I love her. She's the closest thing to family or a home that I've got left."

Her thin, blood-red lips curled into a smile. "Then, would you like for me to tell you a story to relay back to her?" She did not wish to speak of her old ways, but things had to be told in order to be overcome. At the man's nod, she let herself travel back in time, speaking of old ways and old places and old things, starting at when she awoke to find her wings missing. And Gage listened without interruption until her tale was finished.

"How am I to relay this all to Tess?" he whispered. "She'll never believe me."

"She'll believe anything that comes from your lips. You're the only one that has ever been good to her." Maleficent paused. "Where are her wings now?"

"She told me they were burned to ashes alongside the men that took them. I never went to check the area for fear they would return, which they did often. It was a wonder that they never discovered our cabin."

_No chance of recovery,_ the fairy conceded. She reached to stroke Diaval, who had been resting on her shoulder. His chest puffed out a bit each time his role was mentioned in her tale, except for when he'd been turned into a dog. "Be safe, wizard. Recover well, and take care of your girl." She gave him a knowing look.

"I will, guardian. Farewell." The fairy took to the skies, leaving him alone except for the breeze.

* * *

"Codswallop," Tess replied.

"It's true, Tess." Gage crossed his arms. "Why do you refuse to see the good in people just because you made up a wrong that they committed against you? It is not the guardian's fault that your wings are gone. Even if it was, what can she do besides apologize? She can't make you a new pair of wings!"

She sat down on a log. "I just…" The reality of it seemed to sink in. "Oh my god, I was awful to her! I said some of the most awful things! I need to apologize, take it all back…" She buried her face into her hands. "It's not her fault! None of it's her fault!" She began to sob in uncontrollable heaves that Gage thought she would have learned to control by now. But the grief over her wings would never completely fade away. Of course it wouldn't. All he could do was hold her and do his best to soothe her.

"Maybe you should give her a few weeks. I mean, you probably offended her more than she's letting on. She might need time to think things through. And, Tess, you need time to think things through. This is all a new transition for you, coming back here, staying in this land. Living in a tree. Bathing in a creek. It's new for me, too. It's all a change. You need to give yourself time to adjust before you go about making friends or foes for us.

She lowered her head. "Yeah. Yeah. You're right." Then, without thought, she looped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. "I love you."

He braced her away with his arms. "Not the way I love you."

"But what if I do?"

"You shouldn't make yourself want something because I want it, Tess. I don't want you to be miserable on my account."

She hugged him. "I would never be miserable on a day spent with you in good health." She kissed his other cheek and tried to encourage his face to bend down toward her, but it would not. "Gage, spare me the antics and kiss me!"

Blush crept across his cheekbones. He bent and let their lips brush in a chaste kiss. She tasted the way she smelled; all forest and fruit and the sweetness of a fairy. It was like a potato chip; he wanted more than just one. So he took another. "I love you," he murmured into it, a quiet admittance.

"I love you, too," she whispered. "Thank you for waiting on me."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, to be perfectly honest, I was getting very tired of this story and wanted to move on to some new ideas. There are two more chapters coming, but they were very rushed and, in my opinion, poorly written. My apologies to anyone who has been enjoying reading this story, but I have not been enjoying writing it. **

**Diavicent is making itself evident in the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Maleficent or the world she lives in. I wish I lived there, though. **


	5. Chapter 5

"Mistress, you don't think this is at all a waste of time?" Diaval questioned as she read the old parchment with quick, keen emerald eyes scurrying across the page. She did not reply, as she had taken to ignoring him when he addressed her like that. At first, he had tried to correct himself, but gradually he'd just accepted being ignored. "This is as silly as putting a tail on a fish!"

She glared up at him. "There is nothing silly about a wingless fairy, Diaval."

"I thought those things she said to you were pretty silly," he seethed.

"You are more furious about that than I. Perhaps you should go to them to request an apology and get out of my hair."

"I have no desire to do such a thing."

She bit her tongue to keep from adding, "That was an order." Instead, she continued, "I'd hate to think that you, being an animal, were jealous of my literacy."

He bristled. "I'm literate!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?" She pushed the parchment at him. "Read instruction four."

"The ink's all smudgy!" he protested, flustered.

"Oh, yes, of course. The ink is too smudgy for a sharp-eyed bird to make out the ancient scrawls," she teased. "Go down there and write the word fairy in the soil."

He crossed his arms. "I don't have to do anything you tell me to do. I'm not your servant anymore."

"So you concede defeat?"

"I never said that."

"Then prove to me that you can read!" Her eyes twinkled teasingly in a way they rarely did.

The crow-man crossed his arms, considering his veritable options for a moment, before shimmying down the tree. Using large, sloppy lettering, he spelled out FAREE. The R was backward. He glared back up at her.

She laughed into her palm, though she was actually a bit impressed. "Diaval, I know few other birds that would learn how to spell from watching men who are, for the most part, equally illiterate. Now come back up here. I need a feather."

"Who says I should give you a feather?"

"This parchment does. Or rather, it requires a bird's feather, and I do not want to chase down a pigeon or starling. That would be, as you stated earlier, a waste of time."

He grumbled under his breath. He kicked dirt over the ugly FAREE and swung nimbly back up the tree. His eyes fell closed as she reached atop his head and tugged free one of the feathers that were intermixed in his raven-black hair. "Thank you." Something brushed his cheek. His eyes snapped open. He fell backward. Her lips. Her lips had touched him. On the face. He scrambled for a hold on the tree trunk. "Calm yourself, you silly bird. It's part of the potion."

Flabbergasted, he gasped, "How could that fit into a potion?"

"It is one of the sillier facts of strong magic," she explained as she dropped his feather into an old wine goblet. "Strong magic has an essence, usually an overriding emotion. This particular potion requires its maker to know love." She sprinkled some grass on the top of it. "It takes great hate to take a fairy's wings, but a much greater love to replace them."

"Mistress, will it be enough?"

Her eyes smiled at him, though her face barely twitched. "I hope so, Diaval."

He tried to push the fresh memory from his mind. How soft her lips were, how his skin prickled as they brushed his bare flesh… Goosebumps erupted down his arms. These emotions were foreign to a crow, to an animal of any kind. He was no longer just an animal. He was a man, a man in all the confused, muddled emotions that came with one. Swallowing hard, he questioned, "How long does it take to simmer?" He reached back to touch his hair. There was a tiny sore spot where she'd plucked his feather.

"Two weeks."

He remained silent a bit longer before continuing, "If this only takes two weeks, why the hell didn't we do it sixteen years ago?"

She didn't answer him directly. "Were these past years an inconvenience to you, Diaval?"

He had to mull that over. "Mistress, I am glad on any day spent near you. But I cannot help but think that life would have been much easier for the both of us if you had plucked a feather from me and turned me loose."

"Do you know regret, Diaval?"

"I have few, mistress." Regret was another one of those human things, an emotion. But he was not as familiar with it as other human emotions. (The loss he felt staring at the queen's still body. The frustration he'd suffered as his mistress turned him into an animal as despicable as a dog. The dedication to his mistress that he had not flown away in fear as she cursed the infant princess. The glee as the curse was lifted. The inherent desire to protect his mistress as the men threw chains across his dragon form. These were things that he had not known he could experience before she had saved his life and made him a man.) He was unfamiliar with regret as he regretted nothing that Maleficent ordered him to do. "That does not answer my question regarding the potion."

"I could not have brewed a potion for myself."

"I would have done it at your request."

She brought her eyes to his face. "Would you have been able to love strongly enough to brew this potion?"

So that was what she wanted to know. Could he love? It was another human thing. He had too many human things swirling around in his bird brain. Did he know love? What was love, anyway? He knew affection. He was certain of that; he felt it bubble in his chest when she stroked his feathers or gave him a moment of rare praise. He also knew dedication; he would stay by her side when others fled, and would remain until she cast him away. But love? What did he know of love? "I could not have sixteen years ago."

"But today?"

"I am not sure, mistress." At her silence, he continued, "I was not meant to experience human desires. They are confusing to me."

"Is that one of your regrets?"

"Never." He sat down on the branch, tracing his pale fingers where it dipped upward into the tree's trunk. "I have known bad things that birds never experience. But I also know many good things, mistress."

She sank down beside him, the goblet steady and unmoving. Diaval wondered if brewing a potion in a tree was a good idea before deciding that she would not make a faulty decision when it came to her magic. "I wonder sometimes if I bettered your life at all by saving it."

He turned his black eyes on her, but quickly drew them away. His heart was hammering in a way it rarely did. "Mistress, all an animal desires is life. It is what decides an animal's success—how long it lived. You gave me more life, and I am grateful." He was tired and no longer wished to speak. This conversation was deeper than their normal squabbles over dogs versus crows, or their quiet musings about the queen, who was too busy in politics to come visit them often.

"But you're no longer an animal, are you, Diaval?"

"I don't know what I am anymore, mistress." The space between them was warm with crackling tension. He leaned toward her for a moment, but then changed his mind. He wished to touch her, but yet didn't. He tilted his head at her, waiting for her to change his forms as she did at nightfall.

She extended her hand, ghosting it over the scars on his collarbones. "Pretty man," she whispered. Goosebumps appeared across his skin. "Into a crow," she murmured. He shrank down to his natural form and fluttered gracefully to her shoulder. "Pretty bird." She stroked his feathers and let him purr quietly in her ear. He made a soft crooning noise. Was this the love a man felt? It was diluted in this form, but still there. He didn't wish it to be diluted. He wished to feel it in all the ways that a man did. But he could never accept that, and he didn't expect her to be able to, either. So he remained still on her shoulder until she had lain down to sleep. He then began to preen her long, dark hair. It was the only action he could take in his newly discovered love. "Diaval," she mumbled, "You act as though you love my hair more than I do."

He gave a contented purr at the dark, sleek locks. "Please go to sleep," she whispered. With a lazy hand, she rubbed his breast feathers. He left her hair be and found the crook between her neck and shoulder to be a very comfortable place for a bird to rest. He could feel her pulse thrumming close to him, could feel her breaths go in and out until they steadied into a deep sleep. He allowed himself to do the same.

* * *

His first conscious thought was wondering why he felt so large, and what on earth was touching him? He snapped his eyes open. He was a man. His mistress's long, dark wing was covering him. "Bah!" Startled, he rolled away from her. In his desperation, he tumbled from the nest. He latched on to the tree branch with both hands. His eyes wandered downward. "Ah!" The ground was very, very far away. "Mistress! Mistress!" He tried to twist his leg back onto the branch. "Mistress, help!" His palms were sweating, his grip loosening. "Maleficent, please!"

She lazily rolled over. "Diaval, whatever is the—" In an instant, she lunged over to grab him. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist as his grip broke.

His face was written in a cringe of _I am going to die_, only to open a bit in wonder as he did not strike the ground. "Mistress?" His voice trembled.

She grabbed his other hand and hauled him back up into the nest. "What on earth, Diaval?"

"Why did you change me?" he demanded, arms wrapped around himself. His heart was aflutter with terror.

She sucked in a deep breath. "It was an experiment. I wanted to know if you would awaken. I never in my wildest dreams considered that you would try to jump out of the nest if you awoke a man."

"I did not jump!" he protested. He curled away from her, trying to take deep breaths. Tears rose to his eyes, but he did not dare release them for fear of being mocked. His limbs were quivering. The certainty of death had been upon him, and it had chilled him to the bone.

She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Diaval, are you alright?" she questioned softly with a gentle squeeze.

His voice was rushed. "I dunno yet." He couldn't speak much, for fear of releasing the tears.

In an instant, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "It's alright, Diaval." He felt much like a child as he squeezed her tightly, burying his face into her neck. Helplessness was very new and fresh to him.

After several more deep breaths, he was starting to calm down. He became aware of her bosom pressing into his chest, and drew away from her soft, rosy scent. "I was sure I was dead," he whispered, staring at his scraped palms.

She glanced her fingers across them and they healed. "I wasn't going to let that happen."

He chose not to voice his thoughts: that she'd been asleep, that if she'd been a moment slower he would have been plummeting toward the dark earth, that if his grip had held up a second less he would have been seriously injured if not dead by the time he reached the ground. "Thank you," he whispered. Peering down from the tree, he decided that he was done being off the ground for the day. "I think I'll spend the rest of my time on the ground today, thanks." He slid down the trunk with care. Once his feet were stable, he felt safer.

Maleficent flapped down beside him. "I think we should go to visit the water pixies."

"You do what you like. I'm staying grounded."

"I never said we wouldn't walk."

He was about lay a smart comment on about how long she had waited for her wings, but bit down on his tongue. She knew much better than he how long she had waited, and how terrible the grief had been to lose them. She knew herself, and he would only ever see the fraction that she showed to him. Over the years, he had learned little to nothing about her, save that she despised the king. He had watched her shift from dark to light as she became affectionate toward the little beastie. But how much did he really know? Not enough. Not as much as he wanted to.

"You are deep in thought, Diaval. Speak."

He was silent a moment longer before replying, "I was thinking about love, mistress, and how much I want to know if it is true." His gait was smooth and quick, conditioned over years of following her like a shadow through these very woods.

She did not reply. Love was not true to her. There was no such thing; no matter how the queen had been awakened, she did not believe in true love. True love had betrayed her. "I believe that true love exists for those that seek it." But it was not worth seeking. It was not worth finding, because it did not exist for her.

"I will never seek love," he replied, "for I never wish to leave you in favor of something that may or may not exist." In his mind, he corrected himself: _I will never seek love because I spend my days alongside her._

"You would make a woman very happy."

"A woman would bind me to this form forever. I do not want that." _You would not bind me. You are both my way to freedom and my way to undiluted emotion_. The things he wanted to say kept burbling into his head, and he kept trying and failing to push them away. He brushed his hair out of his face.

She quietly replied, "You are a pretty man, Diaval."

"And you, mistress. Pretty woman, I mean." His words spilled out without thought, and he wished his could inhale them back. "Not that I—mistress, I—see, I—"

She pressed a finger to his lips. She was touching his lips. His eyes grew wide and his mouth stopped working. He sucked in a deep breath and did not know whether he should prepare to be struck or not. "Diaval." Her voice was not angry or in any way disturbed or angry. Her thin lips spread into a warm smile. "Thank you." Her eyes were glittering with conflicting emotions. And for the second time in two days, she kissed his cheek.

A slight blush came over his cheeks. He wanted to speak, wanted to tell her of all his desires. He wanted to tell her how comfortable he was with her bosom pressed against him. He wanted to speak of the safety he'd felt enveloped in her arms. He wanted to tell her that he'd been her wings for sixteen years, but now he wanted to be something more. He wanted to bespeak of when he'd been a dragon and they'd thrown their chains on him, but how he hadn't been afraid because she was there, and he would protect her or die trying. He wanted to say that it all started with a life debt, but now it was something more, and he wanted it so bad, but he was terrified to hurt her. He wanted to tell her all these things without realizing that as they sprang to his mind they were spilling adamantly out of his mouth. Then, as the realization came over him, his jaws clamped shut. After a moment's deliberation, he whispered, "I'm sorry," as though an apology would somehow suck all of his words back into his throat.

She leaned in toward him. Her lips brushed his in a chaste kiss. He sucked in a sharp breath; tingles ran up and down his spine. She pulled back from him. "It's okay, Diaval." And for the first time in a very long time, he knew that it was all, _truly_, okay.


	6. Chapter 6

"Gage, I'm scared."

"I'm right here."

"What if she's still mad at me? What if she tries to hurt me?"

"Over my dead body, Tess."

The sun was setting over the land. The two were tightly grasping each other's hands. It had been three weeks since Tess's explosive temper had made itself known to the forest guardian, and she longed more than anything to just apologize. But now that the chance was upon her, she was terrified to speak out, frightened of the wrath that she may face. "What if she won't forgive me?" she whispered.

Gage sighed. "Sometimes our actions have consequences, and we have to accept them. But she doesn't seem at all like an unforgiving person to me. At least not about something like this." He paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "You were harboring your rage and hurt for a very long time, Tess, and I think she understands that." He tugged at her hand. "Come on. We should call upon her before it's dark." The sunset was pink and orange across the sky.

The two wandered to an open field. Gage squeezed her hand and gave her a slight nudge. She looked at him fearfully before stepping forward a bit. "Maleficent!" she called, her voice shaking. "Maleficent, I…" She swallowed hard. "I owe you an apology!"

She landed before the two. Diaval followed suit and perched on her shoulder. She stroked him with soft fingers, and he rubbed his head against her cheek. "There is nothing to be owed."

Tess cleared her throat. "Even so… I am sorry. The things I said to you were wrong, and I was thoughtlessly desperate to blame someone." She bent her head. "I came here searching for things that couldn't be given back, and I was angry. I didn't realize then that home is where you make it, and it's a feeling. It's not a place. It's not a tree or a cabin. It's…something else entirely." Her vivid emerald eyes slid up to Gage and then back to Maleficent. "And I am sorry."

The crow peered at Maleficent with keen, beady eyes. She spoke. "I had to think a very long time for the things you said to me, for many of them were not misplaced. Whether or not anyone is to blame for any of the things that happened to you, I felt a bit responsible." Yellow magic was beginning to dance around Tess. She was tugged into the air, her hand wrenched from Gage's as he stood back to watch in awe.

Maleficent's potion swirled around the fairy. In a flash of light, she floated back gracefully to the ground, her back adorned with tall, black feathery wings. Tess's eyes sparkled with tears that began to drift out of her eyes freely. "They're…They're beautiful," she breathed. She stroked one lovingly. "Thank you." She shook her head in utter disbelief. "Thank you, thank you so much!" Her freedom was returned. It was true and real, and she could fly again. She stretched out her wings and gave them a flap. Their power was unlike anything she could remember.

She turned to Gage. He gave her a bright smile and nodded to the sky. She gave a bright peal of laughter, and her wings lifted her to the crimson sunset.

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**A/N: That's it! Tada! I would apologize for this chapter being so short and rushed, but really, I hated it. I feel like this plot bunny should have just hopped away. So, sorry for not being sorry!**

**Again, reviews are appreciated but not a necessity! The favorites and follows mean a lot, too.**

**Disclaimer: I wish I lived in the moors, but I don't. I also don't own Maleficent. **


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